Saviour
by Boann
Summary: Part 3 of the Rescue Trilogy. Alan has reached breaking point. Can a Thunderbird save himself?
1. Chapter 1

**Hello once again!**

**Yes, it's finally here: the final installment in the Rescue Trilogy!**

**Thank you to all of those who encouraged me to post this, and I apologise for the long wait. Now that my studies have been completed and my critical case of writers block has been beaten (for now), I can return to my writing and finish the trilogy!**

**Please review and let me know what you think! I am always open to criticism and ideas!**

**Hope you enjoy!**

**Boann xx**

The kitchen was silent. The cool breeze that blew softly outside was blocked by the glass partitions that had been lowered for the night. There was none of the usual bustle, noise, or comforting commotion. Alan Tracy leaned against the kitchen bench, trying to settle his pounding heart.

It wasn't the first time he had been here in the dead of night. To say that he'd had a rough couple of weeks was an understatement. The nightmares were getting worse, his appetite had fled a few days ago, and the memories never ceased to plague him. And to make everything worse, he had no idea how to stop it. As the son of a billionaire ex-astronaut and a member of International Rescue, he'd never been a normal kid. But presently, normality had never seemed so appealing.

_This isn't fair! I shouldn't be dealing with this_, he thought.

He should be worrying about Gordon's pranks, homework, and the possible adventures of school holidays. Instead, he was being suffocated by a black cloud that refused to disappear. He'd tried to talk so many times. But each time he mustered the courage to confront his feelings, a rescue call would come in, an intruder would interrupt a personal conversation, or he'd lose his nerve. He would flee to his room, lock the door and release his emotions alone.

He knew he was being stupid. None of his brothers would be so weak.

_But how do they stop it?_

No matter how hard he tried to ignore them, the memories of his ordeals continued to haunt him. At night he would revisit the scenes; crushed under twisted metal, pounded by torrential water, falling into darkness. Only this time, none of his brothers came for him. He would wake only when he'd reached the peak of pain and despair. So far nobody had come running to wake or comfort him. Mercifully, it seemed that his nightmares had been silent. He would sit in the kitchen for about an hour with a glass of water, staring into the night until he'd calmed down. After returning to his room, he'd toss for another hour before falling into a fitful, dream-plagued sleep.

"Alan?"

The voice made him jump so ferociously that the glass he was holding fell to the floor and smashed.

"Hey!" whispered the worried voice. Alan turned around to see John hobbling towards him, leaning on his crutches. His older brother had broken his leg during...Alan cut off his train of thought.

But John didn't seemed too bothered with his impediment. Propping his crutches against the fridge, he awkwardly sidestepped the glass on the floor and held Alan's shoulders gently. "Are you okay?"

_How can I be okay?_ "Yeah," Alan replied, trying to still his shaking body. He motioned to the mess. "Sorry."

"It's okay," John softly assured, grabbing a dustpan out of the cupboard under the sink.

Alan stood there uselessly. "You startled me," he explained.

"Sorry," replied John, throwing the rubbish away. "What are you doing up at three in the morning?"

_I think I'm going insane, John_. Alan had no reply that wouldn't incriminate him, so in the end all he could manage was, "Um."

John seemed to understand. "Do you want some company?" he asked.

_Yes, please stay! Don't leave me!_ Alan shook his head. "No, I'd better go. Thanks."

He didn't want to talk. He'd found it difficult, even to Gordon, whom he had never had trouble confiding in. It was easier being alone, however much he hated it. With that, he trudged upstairs, back into the gloom.

*~*~*~*~*~*

It was a fire in Italy. An electrical shortage in a twenty story building had sparked a fire in the elevator shaft, trapping three people who had been inside the elevator at the time. The rescue services had deemed it too risky to attempt a rescue due to how quickly the fire had spread up the building. But by the time the Thunderbirds had arrived, the crisis had already been averted. Fire engines surrounded the building behind yellow markers. The area they had marked off was littered with rubble and metal, as parts of the building had collapsed under the heat. With all of the commotion around the building, it was difficult for even the Thunderbirds to get into the area. The Fire Service had certainly made an impressive display of manpower, but one that was inhibiting much progress.

"We not anticipate such big fire," the Chief Fire-fighter told them in broken English. "But we found safe passage in basement that allow us to rescue civilians."

Jeff sighed under his helmet. This situation was not unknown to the Thunderbirds, but it did not make it less irritating. "Any casualties?" he asked.

The Chief shook his head. "Is all good. We have taken people out of way. Will have to wait for us to finish and move engines until ambulance can get through. Is very unstable area, see? Perhaps you could use great machines to help us with the fire, no? Make work faster."

"Well, we came all this way, we might as well do something," came Scott's bitter remark.

Jeff spoke again before his son's comment could be interpreted. "We'll get the Firefly on to the fire. Two of my men will help you with the civilians until medical crews can get through."

He turned to his sons, speaking through the private comm. "Alan, you and I will help the civilians. Virgil, take the Firefly and give the fire teams a hand. Scott, clear the area. The building is still unstable and the last thing we want are more casualties if it decides to come down."

"Thunderbird 5 to Danger Zone," Gordon called through the radios from Thunderbird 5. "The area looks stable enough from here, Dad. I've pulled up a few satellite images and readings, and there aren't any signs of immediate problems."

"Good work, son," commended Jeff. "Keep a close eye on the readings and monitor communications. We're going to tackle the last of the fire and assist with the casualties."

"FAB," Gordon replied.

As the communication ended, each respective party took off. Jeff and Alan found the casualties where the Fire Chief had indicated they were being held. The three of them were sitting, propped up against one of the engines in the middle of the commotion. Two men and one woman, all covered in soot and grime. The woman was crying hysterically, holding her wrist. One fireman was trying to keep her calm, but wasn't succeeding.

Jeff and Alan tried as best they could without language to understand the reason behind her panic. Alan bent down in front of the woman. "Will you let me see your arm?" he asked slowly. But it was obvious the woman didn't understand him. Alan gestured the instruction instead.

Jeff motioned to the men. "Are you hurt?" he asked, running his hands up and down his own body in an attempt to communicate. One man seemed to understand and shook his head. The other seemed too distracted by the woman. His stance by her side was protective and he watched Alan with narrowed eyes. _He must be her husband_, Jeff assumed, noticing the similarity of the wedding rings both wore.

Alan, it seemed, was trying his best to reassure the woman, but it wasn't working. No sooner had he laid a gentle hand on the woman's shoulder than she began screaming. Her husband reacted, waving his hand at Alan and speaking angrily in Italian.

Jeff tried to get the man's attention. "He's just making sure she's okay," he explained, but the man obviously didn't understand.

Alan, whose lack of experience made him unable to recognise the delicacy of the situation, tried to encourage the woman, grasping her hand gently and holding out his arm to show her his intentions. No sooner had he touched her again than the husband grabbed Alan by the neck of his uniform and thrown him to the ground. Jeff intervened with the strength of a mother bear, pinning the husband to the fire engine. The other man got up, talking angrily to the husband and making gestures at Alan, who lay on the floor. His words seemed to control the husband's behaviour, and Jeff was reassured enough to let him go. Whilst the man diverted the husband's attention, Jeff went to Alan's side. The fact that Alan hadn't gotten up off the ground worried him.

"Are you okay?" he asked, kneeling beside him.

Alan nodded. His facial expression was blurred behind his tinted helmet, but the stiffness of his body told Jeff he was in pain.

"Can you stand up?" Jeff asked.

"Give me a minute," Alan's voice was weak and pained.

Jeff activated his comm. "Ground Team to Firefly and Scott. What is your status?"

"I'm just about done here, Dad. The fire is now under control. Heading back to Thunderbird Two in one minute," Virgil replied.

"I've convinced the fire and rescue teams to evacuate. They're moving the trucks to clear a path for the medical teams as we speak," Scott reported.

"Okay. Both of you finish up as quick as you can, then I need you to give us a hand with the casualties. There's been an incident," Jeff explained.

"What incident?" Scott piped up.

"Nothing I can't handle until you get here," Jeff replied.

"FAB."

Jeff put a hand on Alan's shoulder. He tensed as he noticed the husband approaching tentatively. The husband put his hand on Alan's arm, speaking gently. His face was remorseful. Alan nodded at him, accepting his apology. The husband acknowledged Jeff before returning to his wife, who had quietened down considerably. Jeff guessed her hysteria had been a reaction to stress more than pain.

"What hurts?" he asked Alan gently.

"My chest," Alan replied, his voice a little stronger.

Jeff nodded. Alan's bruising from his accident and the Australia rescue was still tender. The impact against the bitumen wouldn't have been taken lightly. Jeff wished he had listened to Virgil's private protests against Alan's participation in the rescue. But with Gordon in space and John unfit for duty, they'd had no choice. "Just take a few minutes," he murmured comfortingly.

Alan panted. "It's okay. Just..."

Scott and Virgil chose to enter the scene at that point. Upon seeing his little brother on the ground, Scott immediately asked. "What happened here?"

Jeff explained what had occurred. "He's complaining of pain to his chest," he told Virgil, who bent down next to Alan.

"How bad is the pain, Sprout?" Virgil asked.

"It's getting better. I'll be okay," Alan said, stiffly. He tried to get up as if to prove himself, but fell back down with a muffled cry.

Scott knelt down behind his brother, holding him by the shoulders. "Try and stay still, Sprout.

Virgil placed his hands on Alan's chest and began gently probing. "Just try and relax, and tell me if you feel any pain," he professionally soothed.

Whilst Virgil stayed with Alan, Jeff and Scott were given the all clear to escort the casualties to awaiting medical teams. The men and woman thanked them graciously and a little humbly.

Jeff nodded, satisfied and returned to where Virgil still knelt beside Alan. "What's the diagnosis?" he asked.

"Nothing is broken. I'll give him another exam when we get home," Virgil said. "You ready to go, Al?" He asked, before gently helping the youngest Tracy to his feet, wrapping an arm around him for support.

Jeff spoke into the comm. "Ground team to Thunderbird 5. Mission complete. W're heading back base."

"FAB," was Gordon's reply. A grumble followed. "These Italians. So dramatic, they are. Should stick to spaghetti. It's safer."


	2. Chapter 2

Thankyou so much for all of the fantastic reviews! It was great to be so warmly welcomed back into the swing of things!

Wishing you all a MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Boann xx

The weather at Tracy Island had never been better. Bright blue skies held a perfect burning orb of yellow. A cool breeze kept the tropical heat to a bearable level. It looked like the approaching Christmas would see a sunny day. John rarely experienced this kind of weather, and normally, from his position in the shade on a sun lounger, he would have been grateful. But today, he was too busy brooding to notice. John was bored, and that was saying something. The gentle astronaut was known for his patience and peaceful character, but he was also a Tracy, and all Tracys loathed the term 'invalid'.

Absentmindedly, John shifted on the sun lounger to scratch under the cast on his left leg. Virgil had assured him that it was a clean oblique fracture.

"In English, Virg?" he had groaned. His head had been too foggy from sedatives and pain medication to understand what his brother was talking about.

Virgil hadn't shown any signs of irritation at having to explain. "It means the bone was cleanly broken at an angle. There were no problems regarding blood circulation to your leg or torn tissue. It could have been a lot worse."

Clean break or not, the injury was still immensely restricting. Until he was given the all clear by Virgil, he was officially off duty. He wasn't even allowed to help Onaha put up Christmas decorations!

But the injury wasn't the reason for John's frustration. It was a certain little brother. After returning from the disastrous rescue in Australia, John had been too disorientated from pain medication to see Alan. Virgil had reassured him that, apart from a few more bruises to add to his collection, Alan was physically okay. But a demanding string of rescues had inhibited John from seeing his little brother since the mines, and therefore he'd been unable to personally assess Alan's emotional state.

He had suspected that Alan's sleep was being interrupted. Every morning, his little brother would surface from his room half delirious with dark circles under his eyes. Until he'd had something to eat, Alan would remain in a semi-conscious state, not paying attention to anything around him. John had lost count of the number of times he and his brothers had had to raise their voices to shock Alan back to present.

To investigate his theory, John had taken necessary measures. He'd used his stargazing as an excuse to stay up until the early hours of the morning. He had heard no mumbling or signs of trauma coming from Alan's room across the hall, so when he came downstairs for a glass of water, he had been shocked to see his little brother there. Alan had made no sound coming to this part of the house, and it scared John how skilled Alan had become in being stealthy.

_How long has he been perfecting the art of avoiding our attention?_

One look at Alan had told John that his brother was upset. Sweat glistened on Alan's forehead, and his eyes were bloodshot as if he'd been crying. John was willing to bet Thunderbird 5 that Alan was having nightmares. The evidence was suggesting one thing, and even his father and brothers, who at first had been hesitant to believe the severity of Alan's distress, were growing concerned. On several occasions, their efforts to encourage Alan to talk had come very close to succeeding. There was no doubt Alan wanted to talk, but was scared to do so.

Even Virgil, who was normally ruthless in his role as the family medic, had up until now remained skeptical as to whether Alan's condition was serious. Of course, he had noticed a slight change in Alan's mood, but he, like the others, had been reassured by Alan's past willingness to talk. Over the years, they had found that pressuring Alan to divulge his feelings caused him to withdraw further. If he was given space, however, the young teen would always find one of them to confide in. John sighed. _How could we all have just assumed that this time would be no different? _

_Mind you,_ John mused. _Nine times out of ten, Alan would confide in Gordon, and with him in Thunderbird 5…_

John leaned back in the sun lounger. _Who am I kidding? Alan could have called Gordon anytime. Perhaps this is more serious than we first thought. But why wouldn't he talk to us? Why wouldn't he want to talk to me? I was there beside him during the accident. I saw how scared he was, how much pain he was in. Am I some kind of stranger to him? I'm not here very often, I know but…_

The thing that was scaring John more than Alan's condition was how apparently unstable his relationship with his fellow blonde sibling was. _Is my work costing me too much?_

John pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He had left his radio on during Alan's rescue, and as a result was constantly plagued by the memories of Alan's strangled gasps and terrified voice.

"_What are we going to do?"_

"_I lost Brian."_

"_Just get me out!"_

"John?"

John was broken out of his trance by his father, who stood over him. He had been so withdraw in his thinking that he hadn't even realised his family had returned. _How hard is it to miss a rocket landing in the pool?_ Although, being fair to himself, he had secluded himself from the pool area and found a spot near Kirano's garden to sit.

Jeff frowned at John's furrowed brow. "Headache?"

John smiled reassuringly and shook his head. "No, I'm fine." Gingerly he scooted over so that his father could sit at the end of the lounger. "How was the rescue?"

Jeff nodded, handing John the glass of water he held. "Mission successful, however eventful," he said.

John accepted the water but didn't drink. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Alan took a blow to the ribs," Jeff reluctantly explained.

John sat up straighter. "What? Is he okay?"

"Virgil's taking a look at him now," his father said.

John reached over the arm of the lounger to grab his crutches off the floor. Noticing his shifting, Jeff frowned. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"I'll give you one guess," grunted John.

"Hold on a minute," Jeff's hand on his arm stilled him. "Give the two of them some space. Alan will be fine. Virgil will take care of him."

"That's what I'm worried about," John mumbled. At his father's confused look, he explained. "You know what Virgil is like when he is in his 'medical magician' mode. If he smothers Alan too much, he may cause Alan to withdraw from us again."

Jeff nodded solemnly. "I trust Virgil to make the same judgment, as should you. You're not alone in your concern for Alan. Try not to feel as if you are his only guardian angel, John."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_If he asks me one more time, I'm going to scream_, Alan grumbled to himself. He was sitting shirtless on a bed in the infirmary with his legs hanging over the side. He was trapped not by metal stack machines or rising water, but by a protective brother who was, in Alan's opinion, much too interested in medical science for him to be normal. Alan knew that the only way to satisfy Virgil was to indulge him, but it did not make it any less annoying.

Virgil stood directly in front of him, his hands gently probing Alan's chest. "Does that hurt?" he asked.

_That's it._

Alan suddenly let out a loud and dramatic cry, causing Virgil to pull back with a look of surprise and concern. The expression disappeared when Alan raised his eyebrows.

Virgil let out a sharp sigh. "Don't do that," he reprimanded, resuming his examination.

"I thought you were getting bored with me giving you the same answer…all twenty times you've asked me that question," Alan grumbled. "I'm fine."

"If you were fine, your chest wouldn't be black and blue," Virgil replied.

Alan had to admit, his brother did have a point. The mottled flesh ached and throbbed, but the last thing he wanted was that kind of attention. His pain was punishment for being such a baby and letting silly nightmares affect him so much. The physical pain was trivial, and he could take it. More than anything, the images that had been revived by the blow were what had frightened him. Falling to the ground had brought flashes of falling through the floor. Hitting the ground had been like being pummelled by the stack machine again. The blow to his body; knocking the wind from him; the pressure against his chest had brought so much fear back to him.

"Alan!"

Alan's eyes snapped up to his brother's face. "What?" he asked, instinctively. _Damn, I did it again!_

"You with me, Sprout?" asked Virgil.

Alan nodded as his brother held up a penlight. "I'm going to shine a light in your eyes, okay?"

Alan swatted his brother's hand away. He'd had enough and the constant exhaustion he was currently suffering made him impatient. "Virg, stop! I didn't hit my head," he argued weakly.

Resignedly, Virgil put the penlight down. He braced himself on the bed, his hands on either side of Alan's legs. "Why did you space out like that?" he asked quietly. "You had me scared, Sprout. You need to tell me what's wrong."

_Don't look him, whatever you do_, Alan told himself as he stared downwards. Finally, he said, "I'm just tired."

It didn't seem to satisfy Virgil, but he ceased his examination and handed Alan a shirt. Alan grimaced as his pulled it over his head. He slid gently off the bed and was about to make for the door when he was enveloped in a soft hug.

Virgil's voice was filled with concern. "Just take it easy, okay," he murmured.

Alan nodded, a lump forming in his throat. _Oh God, please don't cry!_

He pulled away and forced a smile as Virgil stood in front of him. The close proximity had suddenly grown unnerving. The ceiling seemed too low and the walls were closing in. His vision swam for a moment he felt like he was going to fall over. His stomach churned. Oh no...He couldn't possibly be...

He dashed into the infirmary bathroom and reached the toilet just in time. Next he was uncontrollably retching into the bowl.

His muscles convulsed, sending pain rippling through his chest. He braced himself against the seat and sobbed. He felt a hand on his back. "Take it easy. Just relax," Virgil spoke to him softly. Alan grunted as he retched again. His brother supported him firmly, but managed not to cause him pain. He was tempted just to sag exhaustedly in Virgil's arms.

The bout didn't last for long, but by the end of it, he was shivering. "Why am I sick?" he swallowed.

"Pain? Stress?" Virgil offered. "Or a combination of both. Are you feeling better?"

"Not really," Alan answered truthfully.

"Come on, lean on me," said Virgil, helping him stand upright. Whilst Alan washed his face, Virgil disappeared back into the infirmary. Alan dried his face with a towel and sank down on the bathroom floor, content to sit for a while. After a few minutes, Virgil came in. Alan looked up but didn't move. He didn't feel like making an effort to do anything right now. Virgil knelt beside him and rubbed his back.

"Alan," Virgil started. He seemed unsure where to begin.

"I'm fine," Alan surprised himself with how nervous his voice sounded.

"Stop it, seriously," Virgil told him. "You're not fine. You're anything but fine, and the quicker you acknowledge that the quicker you can leave all of this behind you. You're making yourself physically sick, Sprout. Start talking to us."

His brother's monologue brought him to tears somehow. But it didn't make him eager to talk. Not to Virgil anyway.

"I'm just really tired," he said.

He knew that Virgil was disappointed. His brother gripped his hand in his. "I was there. Talk to me, Alan. I can help you."

"I just need some pain killers," Alan sighed.

"They won't make the pain go away," Virgil replied. "It just grows until you don't know what to do with yourself. You just want to collapse and shrivel up because you think there is nothing else you can do."

Virgil's accurate description of how he was feeling unnerved him enough to make him stand up. He didn't know what he was doing exactly, but he choked out something about wanting to go to sleep and stumbled out of the bathroom.

He trudged stiffly up to his bedroom and locked the door. How could he have been so weak? He'd kept up the pretence that he was strong for so many days now. And in one single moment, his cover had been blown.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Maybe we shouldn't leave him alone tonight," Scott suggested.

Jeff, Scott, Virgil, and John were sitting in Jeff's office. Even Gordon had been called to the family meeting, even though he could only sit in over the communications channel. Virgil had returned from the infirmary after finishing Alan's examination and had gathered them together. The news he had brought had revealed how serious things had become.

"I checked his room, and the door is locked," Virgil told his older brother.

On the computer screen, Gordon's brow creased into an uncharacteristic frown. "Why won't he talk to us? He knows we have been in this business longer than him. We've had more experience with this sort of thing."

"Have we?" asked John. All eyes were suddenly on him. "Think about it. None of us have been in his position before. We've always been the rescuers; professional and confident in what we do. None of us have been the victim."

"That's rubbish, John," Gordon snapped irritably. "What about my hydrofoil accident?"

"You weren't rescued by your family, Gordo. Alan's always looked up to us, and to have to be rescued by us would have been completely humiliating for him. Would you have wanted your idols to see you helpless and panicking?" John calmly explained. "What he went through, that feeling of loneliness and despair, not to mention the feeling of being physically suffocated, was probably nothing compared to the embarrassment of breaking down in front of us. He suddenly felt that being he was being rescued, he was no longer one of us. You have no idea how helpless he would have felt in that position."

After a solemn pause, Scott murmured. "But _you_ do."

Sighing, John nodded. "The attack on Thunderbird Five and everything that happened up there does give me some idea what is happening right now," he agreed. "But I'm adult and Alan's just a kid. Of course he's going to react differently, and obviously its affecting him a lot more than it did me."

"So what do we do?" asked Gordon, impatiently.

"He's in a bad way," said Virgil, who had been nervously biting his fingernails throughout the whole conversation. "We can't let this heal itself. The kid needs help and he's not coming to any of us for it."

"Well for one thing, I'm not letting him go out on rescues like this," said Jeff, speaking for the first time. "I just hope that it won't make him believe that I'm punishing him for his condition."

"Dad, what if I bring Alan up with me to Thunderbird Five?" John offered. "It would give us some time alone to relax and talk."

"The guise of a training trip could help him with any feelings of exclusion," Scott nodded.

"But do you really think being stuck up in a space station in what he needs right now? He's feeling claustrophobic as it is," said Gordon. "I _do_ know what that feels like."

"I think we should keep him down here where we can all keep an eye on him," Virgil agreed.

Scott shook his head. "I'm actually with John on this one. He's not willing to talk to any of us and on the island we can't always keep an eye on him. We can at least give this a try."

"But it'll be Christmas soon," Gordon argued. "Great way of showing family support, guys. We'll stick him up in a space station for the most wonderful time of the year!"

"Alright Gordon, that's enough," Jeff said, silencing Gordon's sarcastic jibes. "We're obviously not making any progress here, and I for one don't want to watch it get worse whilst we argue amongst ourselves. John will return to duty tomorrow morning, and Alan will go with him. Scott, launching of Thunderbird 3 will take place at 0800 hours tomorrow."

Gordon frowned. "What about Brains and Fermat? They were supposed to arrive the day after. Brains has been planning the trip for two weeks. Fermat comes home tomorrow and he'll be really disappointed when he finds out he's not coming up here," he pointed out.

Jeff sighed. "I'll talk to Brains and see if they can postpone their trip. I'm sure they won't mind when I explain what is going on," he said.

John smiled at his younger brother, attempting to lighten the situation. "So, squirt, are you ready to fall back to Earth?" he teased.

Gordon's frown lessened and the corners of his mouth twitched. "Don't even get me started, spaceman." Suddenly his frown reappeared. "But if you'll excuse the Star Wars quote, I have a bad feeling about this."


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys!**

**Sorry for the delay in posting! A dash of writer's block mixed with two tablespoons of busy-ness isn't the best recipe for a story! In my haste to get this up, I may have missed some errors, and for that I apologise. However, as a sweetener, this story will be a couple of chapters longer than "Rescued" and "Rescuer", so there is much more to come!**

**Don't forget to post your reviews! They spur me on!**

**Boann xx**

"Gordon! I swear to God if I find one more peg on me, I'll…"

It was a classic Tracy prank. Onaha's small, wooden washing pegs were so easily attached to the clothing of unsuspecting siblings in the most unflattering of places. Alan watched his mischievous brother grin expectantly at John. They both knew that although John disapproved of their childish tricks, he could never become truly angry. And, unlike the others, John wasn't skilled at thinking of, or carrying out, vengeful punishments. It was the reason he was such an easy target.

"Just making sure you're awake, Johnny boy," Gordon winked at the blonde astronaut. "I don't want your rusty flying skills sending Alan-"

The peg thrown in Gordon's direction cut him off. John smiled at his meager victory. "I thought you were supposed to be giving us a hand," he said, knowingly raising his eyebrows.

"He's the in-flight entertainment," Alan quietly interjected.

John laughed. Even Gordon cracked a small smile. _Maybe this is going to work after all, _the redhead mused.

Alan and John had just boarded Thunderbird 5, signaling a merciful end to Gordon's confinement aboard the space station. Already, the ruse of a training week in space seemed to be distracting Alan from the fears that had been dominating his mind for the past few weeks. But despite this encouraging sign and the fact that he was itching to return home, Gordon was still nervous about leaving.

He made sure that his sigh went unnoticed from his brothers. _Chillax, Tracy. John's great at 'deep and meaningfuls'. He'll get through…_

Gordon held up his hands in mock defeat. "Okay, you win. I'd better check out before Scott starts his moaning," he said, jerking a thumb towards the airlock, where Scott waited in Thunderbird 3. He ruffled Alan's hair affectionately. "Try not to give the old man too much grief, Sprout."

His dashing smile masked his dread as he exited through the airlock. _John's great, but he doesn't know the kid like I do._ John hadn't seen the look Alan had shared with Gordon in those last few seconds. Only Gordon had recognised the desperate plea for help in his little brother's eyes.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_Deep breaths, that's all you need._ Alan told himself as he went to dump his bag on one of the two bunk beds. He paused, then threw the bag up onto the top bed. It'd be easier to hide up there.

Alan ran a hand through his hair, amazed at himself. _I've dreamed for so long about starting my training up here. I'm finally here…so why am I dreading it_?

A small part of him knew why. For one thing, the sleeping quarters that he would be sharing with his brother were a quarter the size of his own room on the island. The ceiling was low and the entire station hummed with energy from the engines. The very room felt like it was spinning, and before long a horribly familiar nausea announced itself.

Sitting on the bottom bed, Alan groaned and put his head between his knees. _This is a recipe for disaster._

His head jerked up when he heard a soft knocking on the doorframe. John stood against the frame, examining him casually. Alan was fully aware of how pale his face was, and so John's presence was unwelcome. _Get ready for 20 questions. What's wrong? Are you okay? Talk to me._

Instead of the expected interrogation, John merely cocked an eyebrow and looked at his watch. "Well, congratulations kiddo, you've done it."

Alan frowned. "Done what?" he asked with a thick voice. His tongue felt like it had suddenly grown several shoe sizes.

John obviously noticed, because a grin spread across his face. "You've lasted longer than any of our brothers in managing to keep your breakfast in your stomach. Space sickness has defeated many a stubborn Tracy."

"Except you?"

John looked at his watch again. "You've got to last another fourteen minutes, Sprout."

Alan grunted and leaned over again. "Don't hold your breath."

He heard John chuckle. "Bathroom is next door on your left. When you feel better, come to the control desk and I'll give you the grand tour."

Five minutes later, Alan raced to the bathroom.

Afterwards, between bouts of…gut emptying…John showed him around the station. It was a lot bigger than Alan ever imagined. How Brains and his father had found a way of cramming so much into a space station was inconceivable.

Next John showed him the control centre. "Your first few days up here will help you familiarise yourself with technical details," John told him. And so they began.

Over the next week, things were relatively quiet. John explained everything in a patient manner. Never did he appear frustrated whenever Alan asked a question or needed a reminder. John seemed to be constantly jovial. _Maybe he's enjoying the company, _Alan mused.

Perhaps the one thing that Alan learned too quickly was that time had no meaning on Thunderbird 5. There was no day or night, and quite often Alan lost track of the hour. Fortunately, John had plenty of experience up his sleeve to encourage a steady routine. The older Tracy was incredibly strict when it came to mealtimes and bedtimes. No matter how long he stayed in space, Alan doubted he would never get used to being told by his brother to go bed. It was like being five years old all over again.

And, just like any five year old, Alan dreaded bedtime. As predicted, his position on the top bunk allowed him some privacy. It was so much easier to feign sleep when the other person couldn't see your face. But sneaking out of bed was another matter. John was a light sleeper like Scott. The first few nights, Alan had been forced to abandon his plans under the ruse of "I'm just getting a glass of water." He had been forced to swallow the bile that threatened to overwhelm him every time he looked up at the low ceiling. The intensity of the claustrophobia wasn't easing over time, and every night it forced him to the bathroom, where he would retch silently for half an hour before returning to bed. Alan was sick of not being able to sleep, and soon it was starting to show.

"You not sleeping well, Sprout?" John asked one "morning" over breakfast.

Alan grunted, hoping to avoid answering the question. But one quick glance at his brother's questioning face told him he wouldn't get away so easily.

"I'm okay," he shrugged. "I'm just getting used to this, that's all."

"It has been two weeks," John said casually, taking a sip of his coffee. "You're not eating very much either."

"So maybe I suck at this! Maybe I'm not as good at this as you! Just leave it alone, John! I don't need this!" Alan snapped, surprising himself and his brother, who stared back at him warily.

Alan shoved the rest of his toast in his mouth and hastily retreated to shower. He locked the bathroom door behind him.

I just need some space, he grumbled silently to himself as he turned on the hot water. He spun around intent on striding to the sink, but as soon as he had turned, the sink was right in front of him. He couldn't move. He was pinned between the shower and the sink, with no room to pace. It triggered his body's natural response immediately. At least the toilet wasn't difficult to reach in a hurry.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"He's learning really well, Dad. It seems to be distracting him well," John reported.

Not long after Alan had stormed off, their father had called to check up on them, as he had been every few days.

"That's what we were hoping for," said Jeff. "Where is he now?"

John glanced behind him. "He's in the shower," he replied. "He didn't appreciate my probing this morning."

Jeff's brow creased. "What probing? Is everything all right?"

John ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not sure. He seems to be enjoying his training and the space sickness wore off after the first few days. But he's up almost every night, he barely eats anything. He's looking so gaunt. And this morning when I asked him if he was okay, he blew in my face and stormed off. I knew the change of environment would have an impact on him but I never imagined it would be this…"

_I was so sure I could get through to him, and all I've done, it seems, is made things worse._

Jeff's face was thoughtful. "All right," he mused quietly. "Just keep an eye on him. I'm sure-"

John snapped his head over his shoulder, tuning out his father's voice to hone in on another sound. A crash in the bathroom.

"Dad, I've got to go. I'll call you back soon," he said. Not waiting for a response, he disconnected as strode to the bathroom. The shower was running. John knocked on the door and called Alan, but received no response. Deeming the circumstances suitable, he pressed the control panel to open the door. It was locked from the inside.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Alan!"

Alan bit his lip against the pain and cursed. Shakily, he picked up the shards of the dish that he had smashed. In his attempts to snap himself out of his panic attack, he had tripped on the floor around the shower, which was covered in a layer of excess water. Maybe leaving the water running with the screen open had been a bad idea. He'd attempted to grab the sink to save himself, but he had instead grabbed the soap dish on the vanity bench and sent it flying. He had landed hard and sliced his arm on the broken ceramic shards. Blood from the long cut dribbled down his forearm onto the floor.

And to top it off, John had chosen this moment to investigate.

"Alan, are you okay?" John called through the door. "Open up."

_What's a ceramic soap dish doing on a space station anyway?_ Alan pulled himself up off the floor and stashed the broken dish in the cupboard. "Just a minute!" he called, shakily. He grabbed a towel and held it around his arm. He unlocked the door, keeping his injured arm firmly pressed against his side, out of sight.

"Hey, what's going on?" John asked gently.

Alan shook his head. "Nothing," he said, hoping he sounded convincing.

John stepped inside and immediately skidded on the wet floor. He grabbed the doorframe to steady himself, then reached in and turned off the shower.

"You okay?" he asked, frowning. "I heard a crash."

Alan nodded, rubbing the back of his head wearily with his good arm. John grabbed a towel and began drying the floor. Suddenly he stopped and crouched down as if inspecting something. He brushed two fingers over the floor and looked up.

"Where are you bleeding?" he asked gently.

Alan tried to keep his face neutral. _Maybe if I just deny it…_

As if in reply, John held up the two fingers, which were stained red.

Alan cursed himself. _Why didn't I clean up before I let him in?_

"It's just a scratch," he assured.

John stood up and held out one hand, and, albeit reluctantly, Alan obediently held out his arm for inspection. He was done trying to pretend. It was just too hard.

"I slipped on the floor and cut myself on the soap dish. I'm fine," he mumbled.

John gently examined the wound. "It isn't too bad. You won't need stitches. Let's get you cleaned up."

_Yippee._


	4. Chapter 4

"I wanna go home, John."

John looked up at his little brother, a little surprised. He tried not to show his disbelief, instead turning his attention back to the long cut on Alan's arm. He gently wiped the skin around it with a washcloth to clear away the blood.

"If that's what you want," John said softly.

It was Alan's turn to look shocked. "You're not mad?" he asked timidly.

John sighed. _I'm not mad at you, Al. I'm mad at myself. I tried to help you and all I've done is made things worse._

John kept his thoughts to himself. "I'd rather you didn't force yourself to endure anything that upsets you," he replied. Resting the cloth back on the kitchen bench, he soaked a square of gauze in antiseptic, gently taking hold of Alan's arm.

Perched on a high stool, Alan nervously fidgeted.

"Hold still, this won't take long," John gently encouraged him, pressing the gauze against the cut. Alan hissed and tensed in his grip.

"Alan, I know you are probably tired of having to answer this question. But you need to tell me how you feel. Physically and emotionally."

He hoped his calm approach would crack the eggshell around his little brother. Even thought it wasn't necessary, he held on to Alan's arm to keep him where he was.

Alan stayed quiet, but John didn't pressure him. He continued to tend to the wound, wrapping it carefully in a bandage.

"How did you do it?"

John glanced up, again surprised by what he saw. Alan looked like he was about to cry. John stopped what he was doing to perch on a stool directly in front of his brother, giving him his full attention. "How did I do what?"

Alan avoided his gaze. "Get back to normal after…your accident."

His accident. That was one way of putting it. Even mentioning it brought back images and memories.

"_Thunderbird 5 to Tracy Island, mayday! Mayday!"_

_The deafening roar of the hull taking the impact. The searing flames that sent him flying backwards. Then silence. Waiting for the rescue that might not have come. Pain was his only company, and it reminded him of its presence mercilessly._

He should say something wise now. A remedy. But he couldn't find one. "You know what?" he told Alan. "I have no idea."

Alan looked disappointed, and tears welled up in his eyes. "What do I do?" he asked softly. It pained John to hear his little brother so weak and defeated. Alan leaned forward, holding his head in his hands. "What's wrong with me?"

_No more words_, John thought, wrapping Alan in a warm hug. His little brother shuddered with muffled sobs.

Soon, John couldn't bear the silence anymore. "Shhhh," he soothed, rubbing Alan's back like he used to when they were kids. It had been a long time since he had comforted Alan like this. The kid was always so stubbornly strong and withdrawn when it came to emotions. Although it was reassuring that he had accepted John's help, that fact meant that things were bad.

Suddenly, Alan sat up again, shifting out of John's arms. "Sorry," he mumbled.

John rubbed his arm. "You don't need to be sorry, Alan. It's okay to be scared."

"No it's not," Alan shook his head. "I'm supposed to be a Thunderbird."

"Thunderbirds get scared too, Alan," John assured.

"You don't."

John smiled at the comment. "After my accident, I was scared for a long time. I still am. I'm scared that it'll happen again. I'm sacred that it will happen to one of you. I'm scared that we won't be so lucky next time. But you know what?"

Alan looked up at him.

"If there's one thing I've learned from the experience, it's that dwelling on what could have been or what may be is a waste of time. You become detached and removed from reality and the ones you love. If you spend your time worrying about them, how can you treasure the time you spend with them?"

"It's still not right," said Alan. "I'm supposed to be brave, like you and Scott, and Virgil. I've never seen Gordon scared, not even after his hydrofoil accident. He was always making jokes."

John mused. "That's true, he was. That's how we knew he was terrified. Gordon's way of fighting his fear is by finding humour in his situation. It may not be practical or appropriate sometimes, but at least we know he hasn't given up. When Gordon stops joking, then things will be bad."

Alan cocked his head and screwed up his face. "Well…I dunno about that. The one about the choir boy and the cucumber is pretty bad."

"He's still cracking that one?"

"He can't get enough."

"But it's terrible!"

"I know!"

Before long both brothers were laughing. It felt great.

John became serious again. "Hey," he said, making sure Alan was looking at him. "I know that you're going through a rough time, and I know that it isn't going to disappear overnight. But just remember, without fear there cannot be courage. And you are by far the bravest of all of us."

It sounded corny, but he was rewarded with a small smile.

TBTBTBTBTBTBTB

"I told you!"

From the couch, Scott and Virgil exchanged an irritated glance, but Gordon ignored them. He continued to pace across the living room where the three of them waited for their little brother to return. It appeared that a couple of weeks cooped up in a stuffy space station had taken its toll on Alan, and their father had personally gone to bring him home. They were due back within the hour.

"John seemed to think he'd gotten through," said Virgil, ever the optimistic.

"He also said that Alan was suffering from intense claustrophobia. We might as well have shoved him into shipping crate!" Gordon fumed. _I should never have left them up there._

Gordon had never won the title of "Best Mother Hen", but however much he tried to deny his tender side, his little brother was his Achilles Heel.

"Gordon, that's enough!" Scott commanded, taking control. "You heard John yourself. He's managed to talk to Alan, and amazingly Alan opened up. Whatever Alan is still fighting, we'll help him fight it, but at least now we have an idea about what's going on in his head."

Gordon sighed and leaned against the wall. "How long has it been since we rescued him from that basement? He's been suffering all this time and…" _I did nothing_.

The next thing he knew he was being enveloped by Scott's arms. He sighed again into his brother's shoulder. They pulled apart at the sound of the door opening. There, under his father's arm, was Alan.

The kid looked awful.

Scott was the first to approach Alan as he and Jeff walked into the room. He greeted him with a hug and a warm smile. "Welcome home, kiddo."

Gordon was shocked to see Alan return the hug. Virgil got up to join Scott, and began rubbing Alan's back. "It's gonna be okay, Sprout."

Alan looked up at him. "I know," he said softly.

Gordon wasn't so sure, but he knew he had to be strong. So he plastered a grin on his face as he strode towards the group. "So, Alan. This choir boy stands up in the middle of church with this cucumber…"

They were interrupted by the whooping alarm.

"Saved by the bell," grinned Scott.

Jeff smiled. "Come on boys, leave your brother in peace. We'll see you when we get back, Alan."

"No!"

They all stopped at Alan's cry.

"I'm coming with you."

TBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTB

He still couldn't believe he was here. Rescues had been the last thing on his mind when he'd returned home. But as soon as he heard that siren, he knew that it was his chance to regain some control. He was shaking and he was scared, but none of that mattered. Instead he concentrated on what was in front of him.

_It's always the big ones that snap_, thought Alan.

They were in the Atlantic, rescuing the crew of a fishing vessel that had been caught in a monster of a storm. On the boat, Gordon and Alan had been evacuating the fishermen. Above them, Thunderbird 2 held the rescue platform. Alan admired Virgil's piloting skills. Virgil's accuracy and skill in such conditions was astonishing. Gordon was strapping the rest of the crew into the rescue platform, waiting for Alan to join him.

The last member of the crew was large; more than three times Alan's weight, and he had lost control. As waves constantly pounded and flooded the boat, Alan struggled to keep a strong hold on the man.

From Thunderbird 1, Scott called over the radio. "Gordon, Alan, you need to hurry! The boat's going to go down any second!"

Alan was so busy concentrating on Scott's instructions, he unknowingly loosened his grip on the man's arm. Before he could regain control, the man struck him across the chest, knocking him onto the deck. Alan felt like he'd been hit by a baseball bat. Pulling himself to his feet, he grabbed the man's arm once again. "Sir, get onto the platform!" he instructed.

"Get away! We're going to die!" the man screamed.

The man was grabbing his flight suit, his hands nonsensically smothering Alan in an attempt to somehow save himself. The man's weight overpowered Alan, and before he knew it the man was on top of him. Now he was trying to pry Alan's helmet off.

"Save me! Save me!" the man screamed.

_Gordon!_ Alan couldn't get away. A huge weight was pressing down on him and a familiar dread crept up his spine. _I can't breathe!_ He thought. The walls began closing in again. All Alan was aware of was the weight on top of him and his own rising panic.

John's voice chose the perfect moment to whisper in his ear. "Without fear there cannot be courage."

It was then that something snapped inside Alan. He was in control, and he'd had enough. Drawing his fist back, he punched the man squarely in the face, sending him reeling backwards. The man yelled and clutched his face with one hand. Alan used the distraction to grab him by his lifejacket and throw him towards the rescue platform. Gordon had finally managed to reach him, and together they threw the man onto the platform.

"Are you okay?" Gordon called through the radio.

Pinning the man down with his own body, Alan nodded and called into the radio. "Get us up!"

Gordon took to the controls and slowly the platform was winched up into the belly of the massive Thunderbird. When the pod doors closed, the howling wind was effectively silenced. Alan leant against the railing of the pod, swallowing bile. The blow he had taken had revived old injuries, but it didn't matter. He had won the fight, just like John said he would. He felt a smile creep across his face for the first time in weeks, and it felt good.

He was brought back to the present by a hand on his shoulder. Alan nodded to Gordon and gave him a shaky thumbs-up to let him know he was okay. Together they unloaded the men into the passenger area and checked them for injuries. Within minutes they were joined by Virgil, who had donned a helmet to hide his face from their guests.

Virgil noticed that one man had a bloody nose. "What happened?" he asked Alan.

"He freaked out," replied Alan, trudging up to the cockpit. Gasping, he removed his helmet and pushed his fringe off his sweaty brow.

Virgil followed him and removed his own helmet. "You okay?" he asked, his brow creasing as he observed his brother.

Alan nodded, undoing the collar of his flight suit so that he could breathe easier. "I'm fine," Alan started to say, before realising that he wouldn't get away until he was honest. "The guy who freaked just…hit my chest and…" he couldn't finish for lack of breath.

Virgil took charge, leading Alan to the sickbay. "Sit down," he instructed, pulling Alan to the bed in the centre of the small room. "Take deep breaths."

When Alan shook his head to indicate that he couldn't, Virgil contacted Gordon through the comm. "Gordon, secure the passengers and report to the bridge. I need you to pilot Thunderbird 2."

"FAB Virgil," replied Gordon. "Is anything wrong?"

Alan interjected before Virgil could reply. "Of course not, Gordon. Now get to the wheel, I'll keep the mother hen distracted and I'll be counting on you to find every opportunity to scratch the paint!"

He could almost hear Gordon's smile. "FAB, Alan."

Alan returned his attention to Virgil, who was looking at him as if he had just sprouted antlers. Alan frowned. "You okay?"

Virgil snapped out of his trance and resumed his professional manner. "Unzip your suit. I want to take a quick look at those ribs."

Alan complied as Virgil turned away to began foraging for something in one of the cupboards. He could have sworn he'd seen his brother smile before he turned away. As he was undressing, Alan felt something inside one of his pockets. Frowning, he dug inside and pulled out a peg.

He sighed to himself. _Oh, Gordon_.

Alan looked at Virgil's turned back, then around to see if he was being watched by anyone else. With a skilled technique, he gently clipped the peg onto Virgil's suit. He succeeded just before his brother turned around, but not before grinning.

Virgil looked him up and down. "What?"

Alan tried to look innocent. "Nothing."

TBTBTBTBTBTBTB

When Virgil finished, he left his little brother in the infirmary and proceeded to return to the cockpit. The moment he was out of Alan's sight, he reached behind himself and felt his trouser leg. His fingers found the peg just under his right buttock, and he removed it with a smile.

"Good to have you back, Sprout," he whispered to himself, walking down the corridor with a bounce in his step.

**Well, that's all folks!**

**Thankyou for being so patient and encouraging me to update!**

**Thankyou to all of you who reviewed, your criticism and compliments are invaluable!**

**Until next time!**

**Boann xx**


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